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Their board no strange ambiguous viand bore;
From their own streams their choicer fare they drew, To lure the scaly glutton to the shore,
The fole deceit their artless bofom knew !
Sincere themselves, ah too secure to find
The common bosom, like their own, sincere ! 'Tis its own guilt alarms the jealous minds
'Tis her own poison bids the viper fear.
Sketch'd on the lattice of th' adjacent fane,
Their suppliant busts implore the reader's pray'r; Ah gentle fouls ! enjoy your blissful reign,
And let frail mortals claim your guardian care.
For sure, to blissful realms the souls are flown,'
That never fatter'd, injur'd, censur’d, strove; The friends of science! music, all their own;
Music, the voice of virtue and of love!
The journeying peasant, thro' the secret shade,
Heard their soft lyres engage his liftning ear ; And haply deem'd some courteous angel play'd ;
No angel play'd—but might with transport hear.
For these the founds that chase unholy strife !
Solve envy's charm, ambition's wretch release !
Farewel, pure spirits ! vain the praise we give,
The praise you fought from lips angelic Aows; Farewel! the virtues which deserve to live,
Deserve an ampler bliss than life bestows.
Last of his race, PALEMON, now no more
The modeft merit of his line display'd; Then pious Hough VIGORNIA's mitre wore
Soft deep the duft of each deserving shade.
He suggests the advantages of birth to a person of me
rit, and the folly of a superciliousness that is built upon that sole foundation. THEN genius grac'd with lineal splendor glows,
When title shines, with ambient virtues crown'd, Like some fair almond's flow'ry pomp it fhews;
The pride, the perfume of the regions round,
Then learn, ye fair! to foften splendor's ray ;
Endure the swain, the youth of low degree; Let meekness join'd its temperate beam display ;
'Tis the mild verdure that endeais the tree.
Pity the sandald swain, the shepherd's boy ;
He sighs to brighten a neglected name; Foe to the dull appulse of vulgar joy,
He mourns his lot; he wishes, merits fame,
In vain to groves and pathless vales we fly ;
Ambition there the bow'ry haunt invades ; Fame's aweful rays fatigue the courtier's eye,
But gleam still lovely thro' the checquer'd shades.
Vainly, to guard from love's unequal chain,
Has fortune rear'd us in the rural grove; Shou'd ****'s eyes illume the desart plain,
Ev’n I may wonder, and ev'n I must love,
Nor unregarded sighs the lowly hind ;
Tho' you contemn, the gods respect his vow ; Vindictive rage awaits the scornful mind,
And vengeance, too severe ! the gods allow.
On SARUM's plain I met a wand'ring fair ;
The look of forrow, lovely still she bore : Loose flow'd the soft redundance of her hair,
And, on her brow, a Aow'ry wreath she wore.
Oft stooping as she stray'd, she culld the pride
Of ev'ry plain; the pillag'd ev'ry grove ! The fading chaplet daily she supply'd,
And still her hand fome various garland wove.
Erroneous fancy shap'd her wild attire ;
From Bethlem's walls the poor lympatic stray'd ; Seem'd with her air her accent to conspire,
When, as wild fancy taught her, thus she faid.
“ Hear me, dear youth! oh hear an hapless maid,
Sprung from the fcepter'd line of ancient kings! Scorn’d by the world, I ask thy tender aid;
Thy gentle voice shall whisper kinder things.
The world is frantic-fly the race profane
Nor I, nor you, shall its compassion move; Come friendly let us wander, and complain,
And tell me, thepherd ! halt thou seen my love?
My love is young-but other loves are young;
And other loves are fair, and so is mine;
He is my love, who boasts that air divine.
No vulgar Damon robs me of my rest,
Ianthe listens to no vulgar vow;
A brilliant crown distinguishes his brow,
What, shall I stain the glories of my race?
Moreclear, more lovely brightthan Hesper's beam:
Or mix with puddle the pellucid stream?
See thro' these veins the saphire current shine!
'Twas Jove's own nectar gave th’etherial liue : Can base plebeian forms contend with mine!
Display the lovely white, or match the blue?
The painter strove to trace its azure ray ;
He chang'd his colours, and in vain he strove;
Poor youth! he little knew it flowd from Jove.
Pitying his toil, the wond'rous truth I told;
How am'rous Jove trepann'da mortal fair ;